


a crown of thorns.

by CaseyJuTardis



Series: Blooms [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Flowers, Language of Flowers, Loss of Limbs, M/M, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, the ship isn’t explicit; it could be seen as platonic, this was written and posted entirely on mobile I’m sorry if it looks weird
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 08:17:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19390159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaseyJuTardis/pseuds/CaseyJuTardis
Summary: Every depth of despair, every betrayal, every unbearable pain is marked with a bloom. A beautiful flower.Tony Stark is covered in them.





	a crown of thorns.

**Author's Note:**

> There is discussion of scarring and the loss of a limb here. It isn’t (I think) super graphic, but be careful. Also I know that the blooms aren’t described in chronological order.

Blooming flowers. 

Mother Nature’s beauty, shining any time of year, bringing joy and peace. Petals soft and colorful, beckoning to be touched and cared for. A rough hand would kill them easily. 

Blooming flowers. 

Humanity’s greatest weakness. Each betrayal, each sorrow, each well of despair, each excruciating pain, a flower bloomed on your skin. The bigger the flower, the deeper the cut went. 

Blooming flowers. 

Tony Stark was covered in them. 

~

His first flower, he doesn’t even remember. A small bloom of _Iberis sempervirens,_ the evergreen candytuft, sat on the right side of his ribs. No bigger than his pinky nail. 

_Indifference,_ he finds. A glance at his father, and he understands. When his father finally dies, he has a bouquet of them. It’s still not his biggest bloom. 

~

Tony wakes the day after Obadiah Stane’s death with only the edges of two _Lilium lancifolium_ , tiger lilies, visible around the arc reactor. 

_Hatred. Wealth. Pride._

He should’ve known. 

~

When he meets Steve Rogers, he can feel a large, palm-sized bloom forming on his hip. He doesn’t get to look at it until several days later. 

_Narcissus._ A daffodil. _Dianthus caryophyllus._ A yellow carnation. 

_Unrequited love. You have disappointed me._

Very well, then. 

~

Tony feels the biggest bloom forming when he’s dying in his suit in a freezing Siberian bunker. It’s across his back, following the line Steve’s shield made on his chest. 

Aconitum. Monkshood, or Wolf’s Bane. 

_Beware; deadly foe._

Too little, too late. 

~

When Rushman becomes Romanoff, _Ranunculus_ , a buttercup, blooms on the base of his neck, near where she injected him with whatever concoction SHIELD deemed him worthy of. 

_Childishness._

~

When Bruce runs, Tony can feel a Cyclamen blooming. 

_Separation._

~

Jarvis calls him one day while at MIT. He and Rhodey are doing homework while listening to music rather deafeningly, but he mutes it when he sees it Jarvis calling. 

His parents are dead

A black _Rosa_ , a withered rose, blooms immediately on his left thigh, as big as his hand, fingers spread apart. 

This one needs no explanation. 

~

The last time he hears JARVIS’ true voice, when Ultron rips his son from him, a bloom forms on his right calf. 

_Hedera_ , Ivy vines twined around an Asphodel. 

_Dependence, endurance. My regrets follow you to the grave._

~

Social media often says that Tony Stark has no blooms. That he’s never been betrayed, has felt no grief and no despair. He’s too busy swimming in his own greed to care. 

Tony Stark’s just lucky all of his blooms can be hidden under normal clothes. No amount of makeup would cover blooms- they’re meant to be seen. He never wears short sleeves anymore, no matter the heat. Sure, the public would finally know he does feel, but he’s covered. There’s barely any naked skin left under his clothes, and he’s _ashamed._

~

“I am inevitable.” Thanos speaks, his voice grand and severe. His dark presence is cut off by the dull clank of metal on metal, and nothing more. He looks at the glove, turning it to-and-fro, but freezes when he sees that he’s missing something. _The infinity stones._

A new sound rips his attention from the glove. _Stark._

The hiss of the stones’ power infusing with the Iron Man armor is loud and sickening, but the truly horrifying thing is a new bloom forming. His first one that’s truly visible to the public. It burns across his forehead, above his ears, and down to the bottom of his hairline. 

“I. Am. Iron Man.”

~

Three days. How fitting. 

~

“...ny. Please, come back. You’ve made it this far, you can…” That’s Rhodey’s voice. 

“Mr. Stark, we miss you. I miss you.” Peter, now. 

“Tony, if I had known…” Rogers. What the hell?

The voices come and go as he fades in and out of consciousness. The pain is immense, focused on his hand, arm, and shoulder. He can’t actually feel his hand, and most of the arm below the bicep, but it’s phantom pain, he’s read about that. 

_Huh. That’s a lot of blooms gone,_ he thinks. 

~

Tony finally blinks awake in the late hours of the third day. He recognizes where he is, thankfully- the medical facilities of the Compound. 

“FRIDAY?” He croaks, before glancing around. He’s alone, but there’s several well-used chairs, some cots, and blankets strewn around his bed. 

“Boss…” FRIDAY says, relief evident in her voice. 

“Hey, baby girl. How long have I been out?” 

“Three days, boss. You did it. You saved the universe.”

Tony smiles, settling back down on the pillows. He deserves to lay back for a minute. 

“Did you want me to alert anyone that you’re awake, boss?” She asks. It’s obvious she’s jittery, floundering at what to do. 

“Hm. First, I need to see my latest bloom. Can you get eyes on me?” 

“... sure thing.”

The hesitance is worrying, but a camera feed appears to his right, the blue-white glow comforting in its familiarity. He drags it over, watching as his tired face comes into view, then into focus, and-

“Oh.”

Oh dear. That’s… that’s a crown of thorns, etched into his skin. Three thorned stems, a deep brown, intertwined tightly. He ghosts a hand across it, just to make sure no one decided to play a horrible joke on him, but no. All he feels is the faint tingle of a bloom settled in. He sits up and angles the camera around, and yep, it circles his head. There’s no hiding this one. 

“Boss?” FRIDAY asks. “Did… did you want me to call anyone?” She’s worried now, borderline frantic at Tony’s lack of response. 

“Peter. Pepper. Rhodey. I- I need… I need to make sure I’m not dreaming, or in a shitty nightmare.” 

“They’re on their way, boss.” She’s quiet now, somber. She knows, albeit from a distance, what this means. 

~

He doesn’t even notice that- yes, he’s missing his right arm, from just beyond the shoulder down, until the next day. Scar lines emanate from under the bandages, uneven and stuttering, and reach up his neck and down his torso. Rhodey explains that the power of the Stones started to burn him up from the inside, but he somehow survived. The doctors said he would most likely never walk without assistance again, because his right side is significantly weaker now. 

~

“Tony?” Rogers is standing in the doorway, hesitant to pass over the threshold. 

Tony looks up from his tablet, deciding that now would be a good time to step back from the news updates, and rubs at his eyes. The Avengers as a whole decided that no secrets needed to be kept about what happened. The responses were varied, but happy. 

“Hm?”

“Tony, I… can we talk?” 

“Have a seat.” Tony gestures to the audience of sleeping friends and empty seats surrounding his bed. Rogers steps in, picking his way through and settling on the closest available chair. Silence settles, the both of them just listening to the quiet beeps of the machines, the slow breathing of their sleeping teammates, and the years of history between the two. Stephen sighs in his sleep, shifting on the cot. 

Tony realizes that this is probably the first time someone has seen how covered he is. While he was conscious, anyway. He’s in a tank top, because fuck hospital gowns, and a blanket covers his legs. His arms- arm- and shoulders are exposed, covered almost completely by blooming flowers and vines. He can feel Rogers’ eyes roving over them. 

“Tony. I was wrong.” Rogers starts. His tone is serious, regretful, but quiet. He doesn’t want to wake anyone, Tony supposes. “Wrong about you. Wrong about the future. And I let my pride prevent me from seeing the truth.”

“What truth?” Tony asks. 

“That you are human. Not a figurehead, not a concept, not a statue. A real, flawed, kind human being.” His shoulders slump, and Tony catches sight of a sprig of Rue on Rogers’ left shoulder. 

_Regret. Sorrow. Repentance._

It’s a start. 

~

He’s built himself a new arm two weeks after he leaves. 

He meticulously repaints each bloom he’s lost on the metal. Each. One. 

~

God, he just needs to _break_ something. 

The business world waits for no man, so not long after he’s cleared to work again, he’s attending meetings. For both SI and the Accords council. Both types of meetings go well, but it can get really frustrating, really quickly, when he feels all he does is repeat himself. So down he goes to his workshop, where he takes some old pieces of bent armor and decides to manually smooth them out. 

It’s not long after the forge is lit that he shucks his shirt, sweat covering his torso easily. It’s freeing, watching the metal bend under his blows, no other responsibilities weighing him down for the time being. 

An hour passes before he finds a natural stopping point, and turns the forge off. 

“Tony.”

“ _Jesus!!_ FRIDAY, what the hell? No warning at all?”

“Sorry boss, you were focused, and Dr. Strange didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Sorry, Tony. Didn’t mean to startle you.” Tony narrows his eyes, faux annoyance coloring his face. 

“I’m an old man, with a heart condition, Strange. Can’t be sneaking up on me like that.” Now Stephen rolls his eyes fondly as he approaches. Tony wipes most of the sweat off with the discarded shirt because ew. 

Tony can feel Stephen’s eyes on his chest, taking in and categorizing his blooms. He’s done being ashamed; the crown of thorns was a catalyst, he supposed. 

“A crown of thorns is rare, as I’m sure you know.” Stephen begins. Tony nods. 

“Only five times in recorded history. Six now, I guess.” 

“In my 14 million possibilities, I never saw this outcome. You defied the odds, Tony.” 

Tony grins at that. “I’m special, I know.” He tosses back imaginary hair, fluttering his eyelashes at Stephen. “Such a flatterer.” 

Stephen snorts, and steps closer. Tony turns back to his work, but keeps an ear out for Stephens’ steps. He wants to know how close the other man decides to get. 

Here’s the thing about blooms. If you decide to trust someone, truly trust them- you can let them touch your blooms. That sounds dirty, but it’s true. Upon intentional contact, the other person gets flashes of the reason the flower bloomed in their mind- an inside look at the bloom owner’s life. Tony’s never let anyone touch him like that. 

Stephen stops only a foot away, behind and to his left. “May I?” He asks, and Tony knows what he means. 

“Which one?” 

“The Wolf’s Bane is the biggest. That one?”

Tony just nods, and shivers slightly when Stephen’s shaky hand gently lays against his shoulder blade. All is quiet for several minutes, where Tony idly signs a few forms and sends them back to Pepper for SI, before Stephen’s hand falls away.

“ _Christ,_ Tony.” His voice is a wrecked, raspy thing. 

“Hey, I know I’ve got a crown of thorns, but I’m not actually Jesus.” Tony teases. 

“Tony.” He quiets. “How can you even stand being around Rogers and Barnes after that?”

Tony shrugs. “Time. And I’ve had help.” He replies, thinking back to the countless hours of heart-wrenching therapy. “Lots of it.”

Stephen’s brow crinkles, but he nods and moves his hand to another bloom. The Candytuft. “This one?” He asks. Tony nods, and the vision starts. Tony knows what Stephen will see- countless moments of Howard dismissing a young Tony, barking drunken commands at his only son, looking down his nose and finding his child _not good enough._ It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, but he’s made his peace with it. Stephen shifts his hand away with a deep breath, trembles in his hand worsening momentarily before he steadies himself. Tony turns, worried for his friend, and Stephen glides his hand slowly to over where the reactor once sat. It’s scarred horribly, visibly sunken into his chest and an ugly red, but Tony’s visited a tattoo shop since he got it removed. He’s had the two tiger lilies filled in. 

Stephen just lets his hand sit there, not looking into the memory at all, before he slides both hands up to cup Tony’s face. He brings them closer, resting their foreheads together gently. “So very brave.” He whispers, and Tony closes his eyes as a drop falls.

**Author's Note:**

> Any questions? Any requests for stuff in this verse? Leave a comment :)


End file.
